


Killian Jones and the Indelicate, Irascible and Indecent Itch

by MemoryCrow



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Dom/sub, Gay Sex, Humiliation, Humor, Kinda sex pollen, Lack of control, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Porn, Sex Toys, Sexual Coercion, but lots of porn, but with magic, giving up control, golden hook, goofy rude premise, just a lot of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 08:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12980103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemoryCrow/pseuds/MemoryCrow
Summary: Gold casts a vengeful, little spell, causes grave discomfort, and then a great deal of pornography ensues.





	Killian Jones and the Indelicate, Irascible and Indecent Itch

Gold sat on a wooden bench near the harbor and thought about how vile were people. Populating all worlds, as they seemed to do, there was no real hope of getting completely away from them.

… Those who considered the speech of children punishable by blows. Those who punished not at all, and their diminutive, snot-nosed monsters ran amok, entitled and… vile. Vile, like all the rest, perpetuating vileness.

Why, here came a group just now, intruding upon his quiet. A small moment of nothing but a calm sea, boats rocking on water, ropes clanging to masts, the cries of gulls.  How lovely it had been, under a hazy, grey-blue sky that thought of winter. But it was over.

Heroes and their groupies approached. They walked as if they had theme music, as if they shared a great purpose. In fact, their shared purpose was a meal at Granny’s. The stuffing of faces. They carried their phones like magical objects that could ward off evil. _Good luck with that_.

What did they do with them, Gold wondered? They all lived in a town with no exits, and knew only one another. To whom did they reach out? Or, must they keep a constant watch on each other?

 _Ugh_. Vile.

A primary groupie, Killian Jones, glanced down in passing. Gold didn’t bother to meet the pirate’s eyes… there was nothing to say. Nothing that hadn’t already been voiced in the last century or so. He was tired of words; they were spoken, and then vileness simply plodded on. Un-fucking-stoppable.

But Jones spoke. Of course, he spoke. He was _vile_ ; ghastly, even. His eyes lit with a nasty flash and he said, “There he sits, bloody coward. Out for a jaunt and to torment small children, Crocodile?” To the heroes he blatantly arse-kissed by adding, “He tries to pick on those his own size.” Looking back at Gold, he raised an admittedly dashing brow and queried, “Got an _itch_ to do evil?”

Gold did not respond, thinking, _pft. Bitch. Please_. Killian was so much hot air, blunder and buss. But then, as the group continued on, he glanced at them. He noted, with a lip curl, the pirate’s sassy and narrow arse, in a strut of false bravado. _Oh_ , he thought. _Really_.

He gave the smallest of waves in Killian’s direction. He could have been brushing away a stray hair. Nearly invisible, a wee scrap of magic scampered after Killian. Stealthy and quick, it jumped him.

Oblivious, Killian held the door of Granny open for the others, pretending he wasn’t vile. Big faker. The door closed on the wholesome group, and Gold thought, _heh_.

 

 

 

It began during dinner. There was a sort of…. itch. Killian’s brow furrowed as he became cognizant of the itch. He endeavored not to squirm. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was certainly _there_. It was awkward and disturbing, for the itch was right up his bum.

He shifted restlessly in the booth, a subtle maneuver to, more or less, rub one butt-cheek against the other. He sought to subdue the surprising and wriggling little… itch.

He succeeded in inadvertently racking his nuts, causing a little gasp. A zippy jolt of pain, a zap, momentarily blocked out the itch, but then it returned. It became more present, almost a vibration. The urge to engage in highly inappropriate scratching was quickly becoming overwhelming.

Killian shifted again, trying not to be obvious about scooting his bum to the seat, a move not unlike a dog, scooting its arse along the lawn, using its front legs as paddles. Sweat popped out at his hairline, and he made a small, contained sound; a hum. His frown was intense.

Emma looked at him, a full gaze of green eyes and inquiring brow, complete with the gift of detecting lies. It was harrowing.

“What’s with you?” she asked.

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it. Holy hell, was there something _in_ there? He only shook his head, avoiding her direct stare. What the devil was it? Hemorrhoids? Gods, surely not. In fact, he couldn’t shake the idea that – somehow – there was something _in there_. Moving around. Some little bug or worm or… the idea was maddening and horrifying, and Killian drummed his fingers anxiously on the table, staring out the window. He retraced his steps…. Had he done anything worthy of… _infection_? He pressed the soles of his feet hard to the floor, trying to anchor, to resist rocking his pelvis.

“Killian.” Emma said, and he flinched.

“Yes, love?”

Lowering her voice, she murmured, “Do you need to go to the restroom?”

Well, that was humiliating. Was he a toddler? But… yes, actually. Anything to get out of the booth full of Swans and Mills and Mills-Swans and Charmings, all closing in and _looking_. The booth was a trap and he was becoming breathlessly claustrophobic.

The itch, still pronounced and unavoidable in his arse, nevertheless seemed to send out feelers. The feelers weren’t exactly itchy, but they _felt_. They were a ticklish presence in his belly, creeping towards his throat. He felt as though his hook-arm might go spastic. His booted toes tapped on the floor.

Killian felt like he might start jumping up and down at any moment, emitting periodic shrieks; steadily, like a car alarm. He was overcome with the heebie-jeebies. Meanwhile, he might shove his hand down the back of his trousers and startle all of Granny’s with the intimate dexterity of his fingers.

“Aye.” He gasped at Emma, rapidly coming to a place where he didn’t care what his dinner companions thought, so long as he didn’t have a bizarre seizure in front of everyone. So long as he didn’t drop his trousers to his ankles and bend over, begging for someone to _do_ something about whatever was inside him.

Emma let him out of the booth, and everyone gave looks of embarrassed sympathy. _Diarrhea_ , said their somber faces, united in a commercial for Imodium. _You never know when it will get you_. They all stared at their Granny’s fare in question.

Whatever. Adding heft to their gastrointestinal theories, Killian really couldn’t help but clench his butt-cheeks together while making a prissy, mad little scurry for the bathroom. It was taking every ounce of his underdeveloped will not to yelp.

Once in the stall, his trousers dropped and he wasted no time in getting right to the business of indelicate, uncouth, socially unacceptable primate behavior. His finger found his hole, and rubbed and scratched. He was hairy down there… mother of gods… could it be lice? Crabs? Vermin of some variety?

He was rubbing himself raw and couldn’t stop. It wasn’t enough. He bit his lip and moaned, quickly adapting himself to the medium of prayer. The ticklish feelers were spreading throughout his abdomen. His hips jerked to and fro, a robot’s spazzy pelvic thrust. Unabashed, desperate, he wiggled his middle finger inside.

For a moment, it was bliss. Just briefly, the itch stopped and his insides calmed. Instinct prompted him to move his finger, to thrust in and out, seeking the deeper nature of the itch.

It was a mistake. With each thrust, the itch grew stronger. It introduced a new element.

The itch was pure irritation. There was nothing about it that suggested pleasure… and yet. The irritation was also a stimulation. It was over-stimulation. The itch was incendiary; it inflamed. Killian felt raw and his insides howled like a wounded animal, an expression that came from lips as choked huffs of breath, laced with whimpers.

… But his dick had grown huge. Even in his pathetic state, wildly fingering himself, hook lodged over the stall door and making it rattle steadily, he felt a distant pride.

Holy hell… _look_ at it.

It was hard as steel, it pulsed in an alarming way, it was angry and veiny with blood, and it was so fucking _big_. It swayed in a long bob, in time to his compulsive thrusts.

Alas, his balls had swollen sizably as well.

His legs became weak, and cold sweat erupted on the small of his back. It began to trickle down his crack, which made him even jumpier. He was close to tears.

What the devil was he going to _do_? He couldn’t possibly go back out there. Even if he could control himself from inserting one implement or another up his arse, there was now the matter of his unbelievable super-package. It all bloody hurt. He had grave doubts that it could all be tucked back into his trousers.

His head hung, he panted and his finger continued to thrust. Each time he stopped, the itch set up a fit of hysteria. His cock leaked and his balls ached. His entire body trembled. The itch was only a true itch at his hole, but the _squirm_ , the wriggle of it was _everywhere._

Would they have to call an ambulance? Would Whale, in latex gloves and a lab coat, insert some soothing balm up his bum? With that _look_? While Killian lay in a fetal curl on his side, hospital gown open in the back for easy access? A perverted and enfeebled invalid.

Groaning, Killian made a valiant attempt to collect himself. He grew to accept a new version of what was presentable in public. A new reality. The finger made its exit, the trousers were pulled up despite the protests of both aching balls and spasming hole. He managed to get his balls tucked away; the trousers couldn’t be done-up. He kept his shirt untucked, concealing the rebel dick that refused to bend to societies rules. It was hard enough to make Killian feel a little scared.

He could hardly walk. Everything at the apex of his legs was in sheer crisis. He kept a wide-legged, shuffling stance, alternating between hunched over or walking dick-first, as if pulled by a leash. The very motion of moving his legs, walking, amped up the itch. Tears made wet streaks down his face… he hadn’t realized they’d actually arrived. He surprised himself with a little, hitched sob.

 _Fucking hell_.

He paused at the sink and made a half-hearted attempt to wash his hand. On any given day this amounted to squishing soap around in his hand, rinsing and then flinging off water. One-handedness occasionally led him to be less than pristine. Lack of adherence to an antibacterial world served him well in current circumstances.

He looked at his surroundings through tears, taking stock. The window it was. It would hurt like a mother… the climb, the hoist… the wiggle and drop. None of his lower parts would take well to the activity. But… fuck’s sake. He was _not_ going back out there. Let them all think he died in the toilet.

 

 

It wasn’t a surprise when Gold heard the bell over his shop door jungle. He’d expected his caller for some time; the pirate held out for longer than Gold would have credited.

Seeing Killian Jones, Gold smiled. It was a big, slighty fangy, very happy smile. The pirate was a _mess_. He came lurching to the counter like Quasimodo and peered up at Gold from beneath a dark fringe of stress-mussed hair. His arms were wrapped around his abdomen, as if he cramped, badly. Gold knew what he felt was akin to cramping, but really had more to do with his mind fighting against the idea that things _moved_ in his guts, polluted his bloodstream.

His cheeks were flushed, his eyes pained and reddened from… tears? Oh, dearie dear…

Feigning innocence and surprise, Gold said, “Pirate! Whatever is the matter?”

Killian’s voice was all gasp and growl. He shook. Amusingly, his hips rolled and did a little grind.

“I don’t bloody know! Can you… use magic on me, or something? Make this _stop_!”

Tsking, Gold said, “Oh, but I don’t know what ails you, dearie. I would hate to make it worse. Perhaps you’d best be off to the hospital.”

Killian’s head dropped to the counter, where he banged it a few times. Poor wee pirate. He probably felt the path of the itch even within his skull.

He gushed, “ _No_! No, I _can’t_. All the people… Please, Crocodile.” ( _Ohhhh_ …. The hurt puppy, the scared and sad little plea was _good_.) “Please, help me.”

Of course, he would help. So he’d planned from the start. But he paused to consider, to deliberate. He watched Killian’s miserable squirm as he counted off seconds. He said, “You know, pirate, my help comes with a price.”

Killian didn’t even hesitate, such was his desperation. How very quickly relationships could change.

“Aye.” His head made a quick nod. He was _such_ a mess. “I’ll pay, Croc. Anything. Please.”

Again; _please_. Felt on Gold’s tongue, sliding down his gullet, it was so lovingly delicious. He received the ‘ _please_ ’ as a down-payment.

But certainly not payment in full.

“Very well.” He agreed, snappy and crisp, down to business. “We’ll need to go to my home, so I can make a proper assessment and cook up the right antidote. Right. Shall we?”

Killian groaned again, his head back to the counter. It rolled back and forth. Giving Killian’s crow-black head a little pat, Gold chuckled.

“I’ll drive us, dearie. It will be quick.”

 

 

 

He was in the Crocodile’s house. He was one fucked-up fly, and he’d crashed right into the web of the spider. A network of silken threads vibrated and set off alarms… the hungry spider came skittering on many legs.

Oh… fucking hell. Why the devil must he think of spiders and _skittering_? His insides tried to clamp down on the skittering itch inside, imagining it as many spiders, many tickling legs. Parts of himself he’d hither to been unaware of contracted, bore down. In a way, it felt good. But… gods, the panic. The fearful, runaway thoughts of invasion, infection… he was _occupied_. His need to hop around and scream like a woman had not diminished in the least.

His skin had grown feverishly hot, sensitive to the point of pain, as with a high fever. When Gold told him to undress, he didn’t pause to consider. His body demanded it.

He stripped without hesitation, then blushed under Gold’s eyes. Gold smiled at his squirm, the rocking of his hips. He outright laughed, derisively delighted, at the state of Killian’s cock and balls. Shockingly, he tickled curled, warm fingers against Killian’s balls.

… Oh, it felt too good. Everything down there _moved_ , surged to the touch. For a moment, the creepy-crawliness of the itch receded, and a tremendous wave of pleasure rolled through Killian. He leaned into the teasing little touch.

“You’ve quite a situation, here.” Gold observed, and his hand cupped Killian’s balls, a squeeze and a tug, warm and… so good.

Gasping, Killian said, “ _Gods_ …. Aye. Please, fix it.”

“Describe for me your symptoms, pirate.”

…. Shite. Eyes lowered, Killian said, “There’s…. an itch.”

“An _itch_ , dearie?”

“Aye.” Gods. Fuck. “Up me arse. But it’s… all over.” Voice breaking, Killian said, “I can’t take much more of it.”

“Alright, alright.” Gold mock-soothed. His hand moved from Kilian’s balls to his engorged cock, where his fingers made a light perusal. Killian’s eyes rolled back in his head; he rocked on his toes.

Feather-light, not nearly enough; yet Killian’s hips jerked and he nearly came, a guttural sound in his throat.

“Goodness.” Gold said. “You’re in quite a pickle.” He smiled at the innuendo. ”Aren’t you, dearie?”

In response, Killian moaned. He tried to rock into Gold’s hand, but his hold was too light, too much of a tease. _Please stop_ , his mind all but screamed. It was a terrible thing, that he stood naked before the Crocodile and… craved his touch. He whined and very nearly drooled. He saw his enemy differently.

His usual perception was one of age and clever evil, gauntness and secretiveness. Now he saw dark eyes that were rich in depth and maybe even warmth, that offered a promise of relief. He noticed, for the first time, Gold’s bottom lip. It was full, it pouted. He couldn’t suppress an image of rubbing the head of his tortured cock against that lip… watching Gold’s mouth open, the heat and wetness of his tongue everything Killian had ever wanted. He couldn’t stop the thought that Gold’s curious, intelligent face, his long fingers and his too-long hair were _sexy_.

Spasms happened again… Killian’s body leapt to come, but did not. To his great sorrow, Gold’s hand was withdrawn. In its absence the itch screamed. Killian moaned and doubled over.

“Alright, pirate.” Gold said. Simmer down. Come, let’s have a look.”

He walked Killian to his bed, and – quite willingly – Killian climbed atop, crawling on all fours. He spread his legs, hips tilted back. His head hung in shame.

To be so vulnerable for the Imp would have been unthinkable only hours ago. Now, Killian only thought… _do it_. Whatever Gold had planned, whatever he might investigate, put inside, Killian was ready. He needed it. His tortured, obscene parts hung heavily and his hole twitched, waiting.

Gold said, “Ah.”

The horror. Did he _see_ something? Was there some crawly thing actually _in_ there? Did it stick out a leg? Killian thought he might faint, visions of millipedes taking over his head. The explosive birth/death scene from Alien came to him in full glory, and he felt it was most unfortunate he’d ever been coerced by Henry, that half-wit, into viewing it.

“What?” he asked, anxious and upset, voice urgent. “ _What_?”

“Oh.” Said Gold. “I think I see what’s needed.”

“ _What_?” Killian asked again. His body jerked.

Gold walked away, an assured clip across a hardwood floor. He returned, coming around the bed to stand near Killian’s head. With great effort, Killian looked up. His eyes were heavy and hot with mortification.

Gold was holding a sizable dildo.

For a moment, Killian’s thoughts scattered all over. Panic; a knee-jerk _oh-no_. A serious question: Why did Gold have a sizable dildo, seemingly right at hand? Was it an _evil_ dildo?

Then his mind, spurred by his arse, began to process the object in other ways. It was sizable, aye, but – in his current condition – seemed manageable. Maybe necessary. It had a slight curve to it’s shape, and something in the curve suggested to Killian that it would _hit the spot_. It would scratch the itch. It also had little ridges, ripples along its length. Embarrassed, Killian looked at the ripples with frank and pointed lust. He wanted to feel it inside… he imagined both relief and pleasure, and was unable to control the hunger in his eyes, at his parted lips.

His eyelashes fluttered as he watched Gold’s fingers stroke over the length of the object, as if caressing a beloved pet… perhaps as if petting his own cock.

… That was unsettling. In his new self-awareness, the shocking sensitivity and responsiveness at his hole, Killian felt a yearning there. Thinking of how Gold would handle his own cock made Killian whimper. His head hung down again, his hips fucked air and his hole all but begged, his insides bearing down on the all-pervasive itch.

In a soothing voice, a surprisingly warm bedside manner, Gold said, “I’ve a potion, an oil that should ease your affliction, dearie. I can coat this obliging toy, and use it as the vehicle to deliver the potion.” He paused; the air purred. “Do you want it?”

Killian’s belly heaved a bit with the various cramps and spasms that moved inside. His head lowered to the bed, arse still up and plaintively offered. “Aye.” He said, voice hoarse. His breath hitched a shuddering sob.

“Very well.” Said Gold.

He walked away again. Killian kept his eyes closed, a tremble in his muscles. He couldn’t stop the rocking of his hips, the shameful, seeking behavior of his hole. Yet when Gold returned, a dark presence at the foot of the bed, Killian’s body went still. He waited.

“I’m going to use my fingers, first.” Gold said. “Alright?” Sounding rather amused, he added, “Sweetheart.”

Killian couldn’t make words. He groaned into the bedclothes. He widened the stance of his legs and groaned again when he felt Gold’s hand at his tailbone, fingers splayed over his lower back. Warm and slick with the potion, Gold’s thumb made soft circles around his opening.

The spasms were uncontrollable. Killian felt them, contractions that made him feel too open, that shifted his balls and twitched his cock. Hand and hook pressed hard to the bed, and he whined.

It was _so_ good. It wasn’t enough. It was maddening. Gold’s thumb didn’t quite touch him where he so badly needed it, yet it was a steady and soft pressure, all around. Killian pushed back, and Gold chuckled. He delivered a sharp slap to the undercurve of Killian’s butt. Killian didn’t register the slap as pain… It translated as a hot spike of pleasure. It fed the monster of his lust, and teased all about the wretched itch.

“Settle down.” Gold murmured.

“I _can’t_!” Killian gasped. “Can you not see that, Imp?”

“Aye. I can see it quite clearly, dearie.”

Gold’s thumb ghosted over Killian’s hole, causing yet more spasm, a hip jerk. The jerking got Killian another slap, and a long, tormented moan came from his throat. The slaps reverberated inside him… he felt like he could come, like he _should_ have come… so intense was the flooding of pleasure and pleasurable pain at his pelvic floor.

“ _More_.” He breathed.

“More, dearie?”

“Hit me again.”

“Oh. You’re giving orders, are you?”

“Aye.” Killian said. He wasn’t being sassy in the least. He knew only need, and was blinded to anything else. His vision was, by turns, darkened or tinged with red. He was bloody-minded.

“I see.” Gold said. He murmured, “You wish to be punished, then.”

His thumb made another too-soft caress over Killian’s hole, then moved lower. Its touch was at Killian’s perineum, more firm and steady, and one long finger, potion-slippery, slid inside Killian to the knuckle.

Killian lost all sense. His mouth opened wide, but he was breathless, voiceless. Pleasure, agonized by the tickling of the itch, was bright and hot and glaringly white. It was a burst inside him. Gold’s finger thrust and his thumb pressed, and it seemed that as long as Gold was touching him, penetrating him, everything would be okay. The worst of the madness would be kept at bay.

Then the slapping began.

Killian heard himself shouting with it, crying out. He was wrung out. He felt a fiery sting at his bum, the backs of his thighs. An irritation of angry bees joined the skittering of the itch, and yet he didn’t want it to stop…. Any of it. The pressure just over his balls and, somehow, in his belly, the finger that fucked him, the hand that slapped him…. The excruciating build of red heat.

The presence of Gold, the Imp, who handled him.

He didn’t want it to stop, and soon he heard his own ragged, sobbing voice, too loud. The slaps were too loud. He cried, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, _don’t stop_!”

Something broke inside, a bigger, more frightful feeling than he’d ever before known. He felt himself pressing back, riding the finger that drove him. Gold no longer slapped, but held his hip, encouraging his back-thrust. Penetrating his angsty lust, the taste of blood in his mouth, Killian was startled to hear Gold’s voice. Weaving into Killian’s cries, Gold said, “Yes, love. That’s it. That’s good.”

“ _Ohhhhh_ …. Fucking….. _Fuck me_! _Fuck me_!” Killian sobbed, and Gold said, “ _Mmmmm_ …..”

With a shocking spasm, a surprise of seizure that took him bodily, Killian came. He came _hard_ , clamping to Gold’s finger like a vice. His balls seized up, tight, then pulsed with blissful release. Come gushed from his cock in a spurting fountain, heat explosive in his limbs and in his belly. His limbs lost all strength and he collapsed to the bed, legs wide apart and hips still rocking, still taking Gold’s finger.

He didn’t go soft. He lay in a cooling puddle of his own come, body hair getting sticky with it, and his cock stayed hard. His balls kept up an urgent message. Everything shook.

He felt Gold climb onto the bed. He knelt between the spread of Killian’s legs, working him.

“ _Oh, gods_ …” Killian breathed. He wept. He wanted… he would never stop wanting.

“Good boy.” Gold said.

The words, his voice made Killian ever more unsettled. Jesus, his _need_. His willingness to beg.

Then Gold’s finger was gone, and Killian’s eyes opened. He was shocked to find his vision blurred with tears, his eyelashes so wet, they stuck together. He was empty, and it ached terribly. Weakly, he murmured, “No…”

“Not to fret, love. We’re on to bigger and better.”

Killian felt a blunt nudge. Oh yes, the dildo. The evil dildo. His mind conjured its shape and texture, and he raised his hips, trying to be more open. It did not occur to him for a moment to fight it, to refuse it.

The blunt press was so different from the articulate wriggle and slide of Gold’s finger. Both Killian and Gold took shallow breaths, each working the toy in different ways. Killian rocked and tried to relax his muscles. Gold pressed and retreated, caressing with the tip, then pressed again. Killian felt that all of his nether parts were messy and slick… coated in potion and his own seed.

“Alright.” Said Gold’s soft rasp of a voice. His hand cupped over a buttock in a warm fondle, and he said, “Be still, Killian.”

It was hard to be still. It was hard to hear Gold speak his name, now… such intimacy. The itch had changed in nature, but still traveled his blood, a driving force. It kept him hard and insanely aroused, and it also kept him anxious. Needy. It lodged deep in his belly, a place that would never be reached. It planted visions in his head… Visions of Gold, bent to him, soft, wet and warm tongue lapping at his hole. Gold, naked and topping him, thrusting into him, teeth gritted with lust.

The visions were rough with him. They handled and manipulated him as roughly as Gold’s slaps, and he felt – constantly – that he would come again. Gold’s hand on his bum was a feeling of impending climax. His hand soothed down the back of Killian’s thigh, then his fingers raked back up… he grabbed, hard, at the meaty part of Killian’s butt.

All of these things invaded Killian with a quiet violence, as if orgasm could be wrenched, torn from him as he howled and flailed. Behind the feeling was the question: _Was Gold enjoying this_?

 _Of course he was_ , Killian thought. He’d assumed the enjoyment came from seeing Killian laid low, humiliated and deeply shamed. But his touch, his caress… the way he grabbed Killian and squeezed….

 _Good boy_.

In his attempt at stillness, openness, Killian felt himself swallow up the head of the dildo. Gold murmured a sound of approval, and Killian went breathless. Then he gasped.

It was so different. He’d never before felt such a fullness of penetration. Something cock-sized that inexorably filled him up… it was bliss, and his bliss was complete.

“Good, dearie?”

Killian nodded, wordless. Gold pushed it further in. It burned a bit, especially at the entrance, but the potion eased the passage. He felt himself tighten around it, pull it in. His body accepted the intrusion, and the intrusion became the thing he needed… maybe the thing he’d been missing all his life. It was as though, deep in his skull, a door to darkness swung open with a wide and slow yawn. It invited him in.

The surprise was having so little control, and how blessedly good that was. He was at Gold’s mercy; at any other time, unthinkable. Now, it seemed it was all he wanted.

“ _Uunnngggghhh_ ….”

Gods, the ridges of the thing. The wicked curve. Gold thrust it faster, deeper, and Killian felt like he was drooling. As he’d intuited, it was getting to the itch, maybe to its source….. the feeling was both intense pleasure and also deep satisfaction. _Finally_. Yet there was still the frightful sense of a wound that wants scratching, even when still open, raw.

… And Gold was driving him _crazy_. He made a steady thrust with the toy, lighting sparks all along Killian’s nerves. His other hand continued its teasing touch… a light raking of fingertips along his back, his bum. A caress over hip and thigh.

Killian felt Gold get up on hands and knees… he was over Killian, covering him, and surely this was the moment for Killian to go stark, raving mad. Gold’s clothes were a soft tickle against Killian’s over-sensitized, over-heated back. The toy pistoned, and Killian felt Gold’s breath, the touch of his lips at the nape of his neck, at his ear. He erupted in goose bumps, breathing hard.

“ _Oh, gods_ …” he gasped. He pushed back. He fucked the wicked toy that made such delirious, luscious use of his hole. “ _Fuck me_.” He whispered.

At his ear, Gold murmured, “Still a slut, I see.”

Well, he’d never been a slut in quite this manner, but Killian moaned, “Aye…. Oh, fuck. It feels so good.”

“Mmm… you like the toy, love?”

“I love it.” He did. It was love. He’d marry Gold and carry the toy as his bouquet, blushingly anticipating the honeymoon, the voluptuous soreness of the morning after.

He felt so hot. He felt Gold move aside, the toy pulled away. Heat pooled over his body, burned at his entrance. “No…” he mewled, dismayed to be empty again. He could not bear the ache of the emptiness, nor the revitalized itch that surfaced in its wake.

He felt the sharp sting of a slap to his bum, and he ground his cock to the bed. Yes, he was a slut. Whatever Gold wanted, he would do it. He was a willing plaything; this was now what he lived for.

“Turn over.” Gold said.

Killian complied, rolling to his back. Gold nudged him to lift his legs, pull his knees back. The evil dildo found its rhythm inside, again. It slid in with more ease, and Killian’s neck stretched back, his jaw tight.

“ _Uuunnngghhh… gods, yes_.” He panted. The pleasure was nearly unbearable. Mysterious muscles fluttered and swooned.

Recovering somewhat, he rolled his head on the pillow. He watched Gold’s face, intense and in deep study. There he was, full-blown, no longer a presence, a feeling at Killian’s back. Gold, in rolled-up shirt-sleeves, hair falling in his face. He thrust the toy, staring fixedly at its in-and-out motion. He stared at the bounce of Killian’s aching cock.

Killian brought his hand to his cock and stroked… he stroked as Gold thrust. He watched Gold’s dark eyes fixate on it, and felt an odd, dawning sense of triumph. _Yes_ , he thought. _Watch me_. It made his cock jump in his hand… he played with himself for Gold’s benefit; it was peculiar to understand this.

Then Gold’s eyes met his. He scanned his face. He brought his hand to Killian’s face, and wiped a tear from Killian’s cheek.

Voice touched with the rumble of a growl, he said, “If you keep crying like that, Killian, I’ll have to fuck you.”

Killian kept forgetting that he cried. The tears seemed to simply form, like the weeping of his cock. His body released, thoughtless, too far gone to make a connection of mind and body.

Staring intently at Gold, stroking, he said, “Do it.”

 

 

 

Things were not going according to plan. The plan had been an admittedly loose one, but there were key points. For one, profound enjoyment of the pirate’s misery and humiliation, the enduring escalation of shame. It could be said that this portion of the plan was carried out successfully, but the original model did not include Gold sporting a hearty and enthusiastic erection.

For another, he’d meant to prolong the suffering a great deal more than he had. He’d imagined Killian, twitching and mortified, unable to keep from scratching himself or tugging on his dick, while he, himself, remained dignified and cold and calmly pretended to research the issue at hand. He’d imagined the complete, howling and highly inappropriate unravelling of Killian Jones, while he was aloof and in utter contempt. Staring down his nose, offended. Well dressed next to the naked pirate, whorish in his baubles and an obscene, absurd spectacle. When Killian was at his most desperate, he would extract his fee.

What would it be? A year and a day in service to the Dark One? Regular intel on heroes and their antics? An enforcer, perhaps cleverer than Dove? Certainly more headstrong, unafraid to get dirty. Oh, aye. The pirate was _dirty_.

He’d never planned on _touching_ Killian… with his bare hands. He’d probably caught something; something vile. The toy was always a part of the plan… to deliver the bogus cure. Truly, it was to hopelessly humble Killian… to make him beg for the object, to delight in it, unable to disguise his raw need as it violated him. Gold could hold such gluttonous, unmanly and hedonistic hunger over Killian for the duration… there was really no need for further magic or the ownership of a darkened, sullied heart.

He could give Killian the toy as a gift, with a bow tied around; maybe throw in a harness, for Emma to wield as she saw fit. Pirates took so much minding.

But… fuck. Even that thought, with it’s element of comedic control, brought a measure of arousal. This was the element that completely befucked the works of his plan: Killian Jones was turning him on.

Oh, the tears. They were _so good_. He gloried in them, for they well demonstrated all those things he wanted from this encounter. Pain, humiliation, desperation… that Gold could own the pirate, in the simplest of ways. It was all there in the pirate’s salty tears, streaking his flushed face and soaking his dark jaw. The bed was a disaster of Killian’s tears and come; the saline fluids of his body, but for blood. It was all good, but it was _too_ good.

Gold wanted to lick the tears from Killian’s face. He wanted to touch the feverish swell of Killian’s lips. To kiss his lips, tongue hot and invading.

Gods… now he could easily imagine the sounds the pirate would make. He would want it, Gold knew. So long as the magic worked him, making him want to turn himself inside-out with wild need, he would want whatever Gold put in his mouth. Up his arse. He would want the kiss and he’d return it, love-starved. He would suck on fingers… on a cock.

The tears made the blue of his eyes unearthly. The tears made him unbearably pretty.

No, no, _no_. He was vile. _Vile_.

“You want _me_ to fuck you, dearie?” Gold provoked, lip curled with an intention to mock. He pulled the toy out of Killian, distracted for a moment by the brief gaping of Killian’s hole, before it contracted back to its ruddy pucker. Holy hell. The pirate was such a hairy creature… dark swirls of hair were matted down with the slick potion.

It should turn his stomach. He should make a nasty comment. Or… yes. He should _shave_ the pirate, another humiliation. He should make Killian endure it, keeping his body still for the razor while the itch consumed him, niggling away at his insides and making him eager to keep his legs apart, his febrile parts accessible for plunder.

A slow process of razor and water, and then a towel… wiping Killian down like a child not yet trained to the toilet.

In the absence of the toy, Killian was restless. He squirmed. A good boy, he kept his knees pulled up, waiting for more penetration. His hand strayed from his unruly cock to his arse, where he rubbed and fingered. Poor lad… Gold imagined he would dearly love the use of two hands, just now.

Voice rough and thick with his beautiful tears, Killian said, “Aye. Please. Please… fuck me.”

How had it all gone to hell so quickly? Why was it that his first instinct had been to finger the pirate, getting him ready for a more substantial penetration? Why should he care, and why should his own breath get sucked in as he felt the hot, impossibly tight squeeze of the ring of muscle at Killian’s entrance?

How was it that the matted, dark hair didn’t turn his stomach, but – rather – set his teeth on a fine, sharp edge? It spoke to him of animal, of wolf, and he wanted to watch his cock invade Killian’s hole, get swallowed up in the hot and muscular squeeze. He wanted to press Killian’s legs back to his torso and thrust, hard enough to rattle the bed.

None of this, _none_ of it was part of the plan. Gold felt very compromised. He could try and play off his desire as mere violence, violation… yet more humiliation. Begging for cock; that was enough. That was plenty of ammo. Begging for _his_ cock… that was very rich, indeed.

The thing he couldn’t get around was the truth of his own desire. There it was, his erection, urgent and almost painful. Then there was the way he wanted to pleasure Killian, and watch his reactions…

“You’re a greedy one.” He said, posturing. Oh, piffle.

Killian’s eyes closed. He couldn’t disagree; he was a wreck. He had two fingers inside himself, cock bouncing on the belly. It was distracting in the extreme. It was beyond the pale.

Abruptly, Gold didn’t care about the plan. Setting the toy aside, he undid his belt. Killian’s eyes opened at the sound… wet eyelashes, the red of his swollen eyes making the blue of his irises a startling, almost iridescent green. His pupils were wide open, making his eyes darker. Drunk. He looked drugged, stoned and yet anxious with lust.

Greedy.

Killian watched, mesmerized, as Gold undid his trousers and pulled out a long, hot cock, the head flared and weeping nearly as much as Killian’s. Killian’s mouth opened. Gold went completely still, lest the sight make him spill over.

“Do you want it?” he asked. His chest was a painful, hollow rumble.

Killian’s eyelashes fluttered. For a moment, his eyes showed only their whites, his eyes rolling back in his head. He came back into semi-drugged focus, looking at the swell and heft of Gold’s cock. “Aye.” He whispered. “Give it to me. Let me suck it… my mouth is watering.”

It was another moment of stillness for Gold. No one had ever uttered such words to him before. Magically induced itch or no, it was powerful… it was a brutal wave, a war of pain and pleasure in his body that made him weak.

Urgently, he toed off his shoes. He pushed down trousers and boxers, stepping out of them. He climbed onto the bed, straddling Killian’s chest. A wild wind howling in his head, he fed his aching cock into Killian’s waiting, open and willing mouth.

At once, Killian moaned. He closed reddened lips around the head and gave suck, noisily. When Gold began to thrust, he took it… his eyes closed and his throat relaxed, and he _drooled_. He whimpered and purred. He worked himself with his fingers, and Gold felt himself coming undone… he would go mad.

“Slow down, Killian.” He growled.

He was being devoured…. Killian’s gluttony was overwhelming. He pulled out, lest he spurt down Killian’s throat on the instant. He held his cock and brushed the head against Killian’s lips, watching his eyes roll back again, his eyelashes flutter. He grasped at handfuls of Killian’s dark hair, drowning in a scent of sex and a heightened scent of something spicy-sweet. Like Killian’s hunger, it overpowered… it was like walking into an expensive shop at Christmas, the senses assaulted with cinnamon, fir… thick, white candles that dripped a heavy perfume of magnolia and honey.

It was like wandering amongst these things, touching angel wings painted with gold glitter, then turning a corner and realizing one’s surroundings were actually a brothel.

Oh… for the pirate to have a private room in a brothel, his services for hire. A room of dark, merlot-red and black leather, trinkets glittering wickedly. A room where he could be strapped, naked, to a lush bed, and handled as the patron desired.

He would be good at it. Gold would give him money and gifts. He would give him a cologne made of blood, fire and chocolate… things inherent to his leather-touched scent.

… _Not_ part of the plan. _Plan??_ If even the best laid plans could go oft awry, then what of those off-the-cuff plans which simply erupted? It was hopeless.

He turned around, feeding his cock to Killian from a different angle and discovering his own hunger. Yes, his mouth _watered_. Killian’s cock, that tormented and beguiled thing that wept and throbbed, was really too big, agitated as it was. But the head was a ripe plum, and Gold wanted to feel it on his tongue. Stretching over the overwrought mess of Killian’s body, the long wolf-torso and belly, he took it into his mouth.

Killian made a helpless, gasping cry, his mouth opening wide. Gold’s cock nudged at him, moved in a pumping way over his face, but he couldn’t oblige. His legs frogged out to the sides, body in a hot squeeze on his own fingers. His hips pumped, his cock seeking more of Gold’s mouth.

Pulling back, Gold slapped Killian’s cock. There was another pitched, urgent moan, a jerk of the hips. Gold tasted a silkiness of saline, a bitterish taste upon his tongue.

“Behave.” he said.

But something as rooted in the civilized world as _behavior_ had no place in his destroyed bed.

 

 

 

Killian thought he would go mad. Or… he was already there, and was now startled to be visited by one new insanity after another. Madness could go deeper.

Lurking in the back of his much-addled mind was the maligned thought: nothing had ever been this good, before. Was it the torment, the shame that made the pleasure so acute? Was it _Gold_? Regardless of partner or the nature of the relationship, he’d never before felt anything close to this level of intensity…. The death-wish eroticism of being in Gold’s bed.

Gold’s mouth on his cock nearly made him scream. He was going to come again, he knew it. The feeling was one of punished angst and tautly drawn suspense, gripping him at his belly, his balls… as his body gripped his fingers. The feeling, the sensitivity there was almost scary.

He should warn Gold, he thought. The Imp wasn’t likely to be charmed by a mouthful of ejaculate. Gods only knew what punishment would follow. But it felt too good… the wet heat, the silkiness of his tongue and the velvet suckle of his lips… gods, his bottom lip.

Killian moved his head about until he caught Gold’s cock in his mouth. That did it. The heat and the scent, the saline taste of pre-come and the thick, unyielding feel of it… the sheer need with which he could pull Gold in, his throat allowing it in a way he’d never imagined… Gold’s cock pumping towards the elusive yet present itch.

He came. Again, it was hard. A spasm went through his feet, curling and then flexing his long toes, the soles of his feet hot. His pelvis, the muscles of his chest and inner thighs stiffened with steely tension… then he rocked. He moaned steadily around Gold’s cock, his mind lost in a dark morass of bliss. He felt himself empty in spurts, and he felt Gold swallow him down. Gold held his balls in a cupped hand, warm and firm. His balls pulsed, and it felt so good… it was a violent wrenching-out that Killian wanted to feel again and again.

… But he stayed hard.

The release had brought with it more tears. Surely he was cried-out. He didn’t think he’d ever shed so many tears, even in childhood. He let go of Gold’s cock, breathless and choked with tears.

“It won’t _bloody_ go down.” He gasped.

But Gold, it seemed, was pleased enough to go down. Having swallowed Killian’s come, he still made a wet suckle. He kissed and licked about the shaft and he kissed Killian’s belly.

He _kissed_.

 _Don’t_ , Killian thought. Oh, _please_ … _don’t ask_. But he asked.

“Will you kiss me?” Pitiful, his tear-thick voice. It was ridiculous.

It earned a little growl from Gold… a gravely vibration Killian felt in his balls. Now it would happen, he thought. Now Gold would deny him, mock him. He would never live it down. Wanting release… this entire thing was laughable and horrible, but a sheer need of release was one thing. Wanting Gold’s kiss… that was different.

Gods, he wanted it. His want was so specific, he was nearly clear-minded.

Gold turned about again. He lay over Killian, his own legs wide apart, Killian’s draped over. The length of his cock rubbed wetly against Killian’s, and his lips touched to Killian’s.

“You want kisses, dearie?” he murmured. His hair fell about his face, tickling Killian.

Killian’s breath came heavy. The soft brushing of lips teased. “Aye.” He breathed.

“You’re a sweet thing.” Gold said, the soft gravel in his voice. “Dirty and sweet. So fuckable.”

Killian felt himself spasm. A quiet moan came from his throat, and then the kiss became real. Gold’s lips were open against his, his tongue invasive, dominating. His tongue fucked Killian’s mouth, taking his breath and singing his nerve endings as it touched against his own tongue. He was suddenly enveloped in a hot scent of toasted vanilla, warmed vetiver. Sweet tobacco. The kiss, in a different way from Gold’s cock, lapped at the itch. The kiss _tasted_ it, sucked it. The itch keened and yearned to the kiss.

He let off penetrating himself and wrapped his hand around Gold’s cock. It felt so hot. “Fuck me.” He whispered. “Put it _in_ me.”

He lined up the cock to his hole, but then Gold took over. It was like the introduction of the toy… a tease and pressure, but it was so much warmer. There was more give. Killian rocked his hips, meeting Gold, until – finally – it was in.

Both men gasped, the kiss broken for a moment. Gold pushed up on rigid arms. He slid, slow and unstoppable, deeper inside. When he was hilted, taking deep breaths, he pulled slowly out again. He pulled all the way out, making Killian moan loudly, and then - a fast, deep thrust – he was all the way back in.

“ _Yes_!” Killian cried. “ _Yes-oh-gods-yes_! _Hard! Hard_!” His own hips rose and fell… his legs, draped over Gold’s, pulled him in, pulled their hips closer together.

Their mouths reconnected, and Gold fucked him silly. Boneless and mad. Hard, fast thrusts… the shocking sound of bodies slapping together. Their moans and cries were fed into each other’s mouths and swallowed. The bed became noisy; the wooden frame rattled and pounded to the wall.

Pulling back from the depth of the kiss, the seeming attempt to eat one another alive, Gold encircled Killian’s throat with his hand. Killian’s hook-arm embraced him. His hand worked his cock, a frenzied blur. Gold felt Killian’s squeeze on his cock get tighter and tighter… his thrusts slowed, yet he could feel how sensitized they’d both become. It took less and less motion, friction… he gritted his teeth, so close to the edge he tasted blood.

Still holding Killian’s throat, he slapped his face. Killian responded with an open-mouthed groan, his hand never flagging as he jerked himself. It was over-the-top, his tear stained face, reddened from the slap. His slitted eyes swallowed Gold up. He would take whatever Gold gave him.

“ _I’m coming_ …” Gold rasped, helpless in the clutches of it.

He caressed Killian’s neck and bent down to reclaim his mouth. With the action, a subtle motion of his thumb over Killian’s jugular, he released the itchy, little spell.

It released Killian. With a shout, throaty and full, he came for a third time, cock spurting messily between their bodies. His hole clamped down on Gold… it squeezed to the rhythm of his spurting, and Gold felt himself draw up and then gush. He pumped into Killian, filling him up. Voice ragged, he moved from Killian’s mouth and bit against his shoulder.

There came a moment when the room seemed very still. The air cooled, and Gold pulled the bedclothes around them. They’d both gone soft, but he was reluctant to disengage. He stayed partly inside Killian, feeling his seed slide out.

It… _none_ of it… was his norm. Certainly not to cuddle up in body fluids with a wolfish pirate. He had no idea what Killian’s norm might be. It had been too intense, they were both too wrung out. At that moment, it couldn’t be spoken of, nor could it be dismissed.

So, they slept.

 

 

 

A few weeks later, Killian came stumbling into Gold’s shop. Gold smiled. The pirate hadn’t hesitated at all… he’d wasted no time, this go-around.

It was snowing heavily outside, but Killian carried his long, leather coat over his arm. He was flushed…. Heat came off him, melting the snow on his skin, in his hair and on his long, thick eyelashes.

Laying his coat on the counter, he began undoing buttons on his waistcoat.

“I’m so hot.” He panted at Gold. He pouted.

“Indeed, dearie.” Gold smiled at the double-entendre. He set aside his ledger and watched Killian strip, feeling a calm enjoyment.

The waistcoat fell to the floor, then his shirt. Killian stood, wolfish and beautiful, in leather trousers and boots. He began undoing buttons on his trousers.

Taking that as his signal, Gold sent a little sprite of magic to lock the door and flip the sign to ‘closed’. Killian’s trousers fell to his ankles, and Gold took a small moment to gloat. The long, lean wolf-boy. The hard, red cock. He knew this landscape well, now.

Husky voiced, Killian said, “I’m _so_ hot, mate. I know you can help me. Will you help me?”

At a brisk clip, Gold came around the counter. This spell wasn’t as virulent as the nasty itch, but it had done its job. He enjoyed these oft forgotten little scraps of magic… the impets and hobs.

Taking hold of Killian’s cock – indeed, it was _hot_ – he pulled him to his back room. Gamely, Killian shuffled along, ankles restricted by his trousers.

“Come along, dearie.” Gold said, “Let’s see what I have for your current condition. Although we have yet to settle your debt from our previous encounter.”

“Debt?” Killian sounded incredulous. Oh, he wasn’t nearly as worked up as before. Something might have to be done about that. “Sure, but I’m paid up, Imp. What with taking your goblin-dick up me arse.”

“Rubbish.” Gold smiled, turning to face Killian. His hand on the captured cock stroked fondly. Generosity lavish in his voice, he added, “I did you a _service_! As I’m about to do, again.”

Warm and insidiously wicked, Killian smiled back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
